


pieces

by bottledlogic



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Angst, Dreams, Gen, Memories, very very very dark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-20
Updated: 2014-09-20
Packaged: 2018-02-18 02:44:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2332367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bottledlogic/pseuds/bottledlogic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emily in Paris, in which nightmares bleed into reality.</p>
            </blockquote>





	pieces

**Author's Note:**

> angsty stuff. a companion piece to chapters 3 and 5 of my other story - 'we fall through the gaps' - but can be read alone.  
> lyrics from radiohead's 'no surprises'.

_'a heart that's full up like a landfill._   
_a job that slowly kills you._   
_bruises that won't heal.'_

....

Her finger glides over the safety.

On. Off. On. Off. On. Off.

(And it’s like her mind can’t choose which one.)

She sees his smiling face over the balcony of a beautiful Tuscan villa, hands grasping the shoulders of a young boy with shockingly blonde hair and ice blue eyes. She stares into those eyes, and they stare back ( _keep looking looking looking don’t stop_ ) and she drowns, falling, and her hand scrabbles for a hold on anything, anyone.

He pulls her up. Tells her he loves her.

_i know. love you too_.

_are you going to take care of me?_

And she grins goofily because this is perfect, the three of them, and they are perfect, just playing hide-and-seek and running everywhere.

( _I found you_ )

But then she wakes and JJ says ‘good luck’ and maybe she didn’t hear quite right, but it sounded awfully like ‘goodbye’.

Oh god, it hurts, it hurts so much.

....

It’s dark now, and she walks away, far away.

Into a darkened room now, softly lit with candles, and she laughs because this gesture is really sweet, and she’s chosen only to remember him as Ian, and she can only see the electric blue in his eyes, but _they are shining_.

He guides her to a homely antique wooden table and he starts telling her its story, and she laughs because it sounds absolutely ridiculous and he’s probably made it all up. But she keeps laughing and she is happy and she forgets and thinks of nothing except this wonderful man in front of her.

_lauren reynolds is a lie. lauren reynolds is dead._

(Did it have to be a wooden table?)

....

Her finger glides over the safety.

On. Off. On. Off. On. Off.

She loves the cold. She remembers her grandfather’s cabin in the Alps. Snow-capped mountains and fresh air

She loves the cold. She remembers standing outside the church after Matthew. Blood drips freely.

She loves the cold. The metal presses against her forehead.

( _It would be so fucking easy_ )

Except it’s not.

....

She sees him more often than not. And it’s strange ( _is it?_ ), but when she sees him, it’s pure elation.

It’s euphoric, and she’s like one of those pretty colourful dancers on the stage, leaping, twirling, arcing through the air, there is a rush, and she spins spins spins –-

-– _breathes_.

....

She wakes and her pillow is damp and moisture slides easily off metal.

The sun shines through, and it burns her ( _fire is blue_ ) and she is so confused…

…but her tears dry yet again.

....

_'i'll take a quiet life._   
_a handshake some carbon monoxide._   
_no alarms and no surprises._   
_no alarms and no surprises._   
_silent.'_

 


End file.
